The Promise
by NellaElla
Summary: An AU story where Flippy is a soldier in WWI who meets Flaky one night while in Paris. Inspired by One Night In Paris by IronicNarwhal, so the credit for the idea goes all to them.
1. Chapter 1

**A.N. This was inspired by One Night in Paris by IronicNarwhal. This is the 2nd out out 3 extra stories I'm doing before going back to finish up Relationship Problems.**

* * *

Flippy stared down at his glass, watching the ice battle each other to see who reached the bottom first. The bar smelt of alcohol, cigarettes, cheap cologne, and regret; sinful and sickeningly warm, the atmosphere hung above him like a tangible cloud. People continued to leave and then be replaced by two more, the thick wooden walls being filled to the brim with a variety of persons. Some old, some new, some rich, some poor, some laughing loudly in groups, some curled up in a booth and sobbing quietly. Flippy just sat at the bar, watching the condensation roll down his glass of scotch. He didn't drink.

It was the times that tried men; WWI, the year was 1916. Flippy had been wounded, and badly. Right alongside his best mate, who had been at his side when the bullet was fired. Fired at Flippy. His best mate; he'd taken a bullet for him, passed right through him like a knife through butter. The shrapnel peppered Flippy's arm and torso. All he remembered was the army doctors dragging him away in the smoke, and he didn't let go of his friend's hand. Not even when they were loaded in the truck and barreling for help. Not even when the doctors had announced him dead and tried to sedate Flippy. But when he woke up, he wasn't in the truck, and he didn't have his friend's hand in his anymore. He'd looked at his fingers, still curled and clenched as if the hand was still there, just invisible.

And now, less than 24 hours later, sitting in a sleazy bar a little before midnight, in the grand city of Paris, he looked at that same hand. It was hidden halfway by the sling he wore like a big, ugly Band-Aid. He hadn't been the only one transported into town that day, several others that managed to survive by the skin of their teeth and some that weren't so lucky, and they were all given orders to stay for the rest of the weekend. It was Sunday. Flippy had spent the first day in a hospital bed, crying empty and shameless tears, refusing to believe them when they said he'd been the one who'd survived the shot, and the funeral for his friend was tomorrow. They said they were sorry and that they'd tried all they could do. Flippy had yelled it wasn't enough, they didn't do enough. It would never be enough.

They were just boys. They all were. Flippy had just turned 22 last week, and they were going to celebrate when they got home. They were going to celebrate all the birthdays and holidays they'd missed and the war would fade away until it was just a memory. It could be suppressed. He'd made friends, fought alongside old ones. But out there on the front, up to the North, they weren't the same highschool buddies who played football and drank beer on Friday's. They were soldiers.

Flippy felt his face grow hot and his body go numb, and in one swig he threw his third glass of scotch back. It burned as it went down his throat and exploded in his belly, a warming sense of oblivion lapping at the edges of his consciousness. And all he wanted to do was let the flames consume him. He was supposed to be healing, resting up. But resting up for what? Just another day out there? Where he'd pay with more blood and watch more people die?

Yes, that's exactly what he would do. He would be a good soldier, and fight with all he had. He was a shining star, a hero. What the posters in the streets claimed was glorious and honorable. But what he really was was the thing that tore families apart and made mothers cry. The thing that made Christmas's have one less member at the table and the coffin that was lowered into the dirt with a flag on top. Or in some cases, the bodies that would never have a grave and would be lost amongst the rubble and never found again. Never be able to speak or hear or feel. Because they'd be gone, vanished, silent forever.

All these things swirled in Flippy's mind like the alcohol in his stomach, and he didn't notice the seat becoming occupied beside him until his arm brushed against them on its way for another glass. When he turned he saw a girl, young, maybe 19 or so, with fiery red hair and pale, pale skin. She was wearing a dress covered by a big black trench coat, revealing legs shaded with panty hose and black heels that were for any occasion. She was classy, yet the lines and wrinkles in the fabric suggested wear and tear. A hand me down that bore the signs of years gone by. She had a hat on that partly shielded her face, her big brown eyes, and her lips were a soft shade of magenta. She was vintage classy, most likely as poor as everyone else in this shit economy but had the dignity to at least look high class. She should have exuberated confidence and feminine power, but one look at her lap and you could see her small hands twisting around and around each other. She was nervous, wound up, something was boiling under that porcelain skin.

"Hello," Flippy tried, feeling obligated. If she needed help or was in trouble, he at least had to be a gentleman and offer his support. He may be a war machine, but he was a mannerly one.

"_Bonjour soldat."_

A thick accent, not alto but rich and soft. Flippy didn't speak one lick of French other than the customary 'hello' and 'thank you', so with a swimming head he nodded in acknowledgment.

Silence stretched between them. People screamed and whooped behind them, one woman cackled and some loud shuffling made the air fill with friction. It was uncomfortable to sit so dignified beside some one in such a place, and Flippy cleared his throat.

"So uh, what…What brings you here?"

She didn't look at him as her lips moved elegantly around the words.

"_Je n'ai nulle part ailleurs où aller." _A brief pause, and then, "_Tout comme vous."_

Flippy nodded, totally and completely confused.

"So uh…Do you speak any English, maybe?"

A small smile lit the woman's face, and her magenta lips upturned. "Yes."

"Hmm. Alright then."

The silence that followed didn't last long, because soon she was giggling, and then it felt contagious, and Flippy was falling in stitches along with her.

"Do you want to get out of here?"

The words that she offered were like notes from angels, and he hopped on their glory.

"Yes, I would really like that. Please."

They slid off their seats and exited the bar in steps, maneuvering around the people and arms and glasses and elbows until Flippy bust the door open and they tumbled into the freezing cold. A gruff and bellowing voice, one that belonged to a stout and very unhappy bartender, called out to Flippy saying he still needed to pay for his drink, but Flippy only managed to throw a couple coins forward before the door slammed shut. Their breath puffed around their face in clouds and they strangled back laughter, reaching for each other to gain some balance.

"_Oh mon Dieu_," she said over and over, her words hot in his ear as her breath broke the chill.

"I know," Flippy agreed, not needing a translation. He felt like the weight in his chest was slightly lifted. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe not, but he knew he was slightly drunk as the floor moved in irregular directions. He felt the girl's hand in his, and he was instantly grounded. It was warm and traveled up his arm, sending the chill of icy memories in his mind fleeing.

_I don't even know your name, but you're so beautiful._

The alcohol was still warm in his belly as the girl guided him through the city, holding his hand the whole way. Despite the time and freezing cold temperature, people were out and about, talking, laughing, playing, and strolling along. She still spoke some phrases in French, which Flaky didn't mind at all. Her accent was beautiful, and the sound of her voice just urged him along, trailing after her as her heels clicked against the pavement.

They saw street signs and lights and bums in alleyways, and in the middle of a war there hung a gray cloud in the air. But with her, it felt like the depression wasn't as strong, and he was content as they scaled the park and the murky water under the bridge. It was liberating. The only timed they stopped walking was when they saw the Eiffel Tower on the horizon, and Flippy had made a rectangle with his fingers like a mock camera. Then at the sound of Flaky's taunting snort, he turned and focused the camera on her, twisting his wrists as she playfully struck a few poses.

He was jerked back to reality at the feeling of hot breath on his face. He focused his eyes and looked down to see her standing so close their feet touched. She was breathing in white puffs with wide, questioning eyes.

"Um, I'm sorry…Did you say something?" Flippy quickly said.

She giggled, shaking her head and patting his arm.

"I asked if you wanted to go visit my house," she said, a ghost of a smile on her lips. Flippy felt the sudden urge to kiss them.

"Yes, sure," he said, and she began to lead him again.

Her house was cramped and closed in between the buildings around it. It was on the west side of town, run down, a two story house with rooms for people to rent. The steps were cracking as they walked up and climbed the steps, stopping at a room down a creaky hallway. Once inside he saw the room wasn't as small as he thought, and was actually quite cozy. It was warm and a little stuffy, organized with very little items and well cleaned. He took a seat on the couch, and after a few minutes in the kitchen the girl returned with two cups of coffee.

A cat meowed at his feet as he took a sip.

"Who's this," he asked, the girl taking a seat beside him.

"Jean," she said, smiling as he scratched the cat's head. It purred loudly and made a figure eight between his legs.

And then they started talking. About nothing and everything. She asked about the front lines and the barracks and talked about her roommate who spent most nights roaming the city. Her name was Giggles apparently, and they had known each other for 16 years. The girl said she was 21, much to his surprise, and Flippy said he was 22, but felt like an old man after joining the army. She smiled and didn't say anything, putting a hand on his shoulder and patting softly.

She finished her coffee before him, and she leaned over to set her mug down on the carpet before simply rolling on her side and placing her head in Flippy's lap. It normally would have embarrassed him, but for some reason it felt perfectly natural to lightly trail his hands through her hair. White flakes of dandruff fell away like flakes of snow.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I've always had such horrible hair."

"I like it," Flippy said, and he meant it.

She looked up at him, quirking an eyebrow, and reached a hand up to cup his cheek. He leaned into the embrace, exhaling slowly.

"_Mon brave soldat_," she said fondly, and Flippy leaned down and kissed her.

She tensed under him and after a moment she sat up, gently pushing him away.

"I…I'm sorry," Flippy said, cursing himself for acting without thinking. "Was that…not what you wanted…?"

"No, no, no, do not apologize. It's just… I don't even know your name."

She looked at him, her eyes searching and a little ashamed. Flippy pursed his lips and thought a moment before saying, "I'm Flippy. And you are?"

"Flaky," she murmured.

"Flaky," he repeated, grinning, "Wonderful to meet you." He took her hand and raised it to his lips, politely kissing her knuckles. "Formally."

Flaky let out a noise that was part laugh part sigh and suddenly leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him desperately.

Flippy met her halfway.

That night, in the comfort of Flaky's room with the moon shining on them through the foggy windows, they breathed the same breath and sighed with touches. Skin was soft and lips were hungry, teeth and tongues brushing with scrapes and skimming. Flippy trailed his hands gently over Flaky's figure and covered her in kisses while Flaky said incoherent words and swept painted nails over his shoulder blades. And they weren't thinking, just reacting. Just acting on natural, primal instincts, letting go and losing themselves in the sensations. The war was a distant memory and all Flippy knew was the noises coming from the gorgeous girl tangled in his arms. One look at her sent shivers down his spine and had him questioning his entire existence in that exact moment.

Flippy opened his eyes and saw through the hazy blur that the small clock on the bedside table read 1:45 a.m. He didn't remember falling asleep, and at first his unfamiliar surroundings had startled him. But when he rolled over he saw Flaky facing him, curled up on her side and wrapped in the sheets, and the memories came rushing back. Her eyelids fluttered in her sleep, the streetlights outside casting a streak of light across her pale cheek, her skin almost glowing. Flippy felt a knot in his chest as he remembered what he had to do today; what he had to do in less than 5 hours. To call someone like Flaky a one night stand should be considered a sin.

He honestly didn't think he would know how to say goodbye.

Ever so slowly he eased off the bed, swinging his legs over and placing his feet on the cold wooden floor. He paused when the floorboards creaked as he stood up, casting a glance at Flaky who didn't look the slightest bit disturbed. With extreme caution he maneuvered around the room, picking up the scattered articles of clothing and putting them back on. When he'd finished zipping up his jacket, he heard a sudden cough behind him. He froze, glancing over his shoulder with his fingers still wrapped around the zipper. Flaky was sitting up, completely naked and not the least bit unabashed. She rubbed her eyes sleepily, looking him up and down and furrowing her brow.

"I was hoping you'd at least stay put until I woke up," she said, looking hurt, "I was planning on making you breakfast, I mean, if you want."

Flippy's heart seized up into his throat, and he sighed as he walked back over to the bed. He stopped when he was in front of her, kneeling down and reaching out to run a thumb across her cheek. She closed her eyes and placed her hand on his wrist.

"Believe me Flaky; I want nothing more than to stay here."

"Then why don't you?"

"Because I have to go back."

"Go back where?"

"Back up north, to the front lines. I'm meeting up with the other soldiers sent down here in about," he glanced at the clock again, "4 hours."

Her eyes were open now as she searched his face, her mouth twisted. Her hand was holding on to his wrist tightly, and the way she attempted to make a coherent sentence made guilt crush down on him.

"…Oh," was what she finally settled for, and the slight waver in her voice said it all.

"Yeah," he breathed, looking at the floor. They both didn't move at all, even as the clock ticked by.

"You have 4 hours, and your already dressed so… Why don't you let me make you some breakfast before you go?"

He smiled, but it felt alien on his mouth. "No…I…I just…Can we just stay here, maybe? Can we just lie here together?"

She gave him a bittersweet smile and nodded her head, scooting across the bed to make room for him. It was warm when he lay down in her spot, and he quickly reached out and pulled her close to him, burying his face in the untidy mass of red hair. Her lips brushed his collarbone as she breathed, and when it hitched and her shoulders began to slightly tremble he didn't show he was aware of it.

"Thank you," Flippy said after what felt like too short of an eternity. "For the first time in months I felt truly happy here with you. I don't want to leave, but I know I have to, and it makes me sick. You're so wonderful Flaky. You're so amazing and beautiful and I've never met anyone like you and probably never will again. And I don't want to let you go. I want to be with you for more than just one night. I want…I want to stay."

"But…" she sniffled, "you can't."

He nodded.

"And I'm so, so, so sorry for not telling you this sooner. I should have told you before I tried to-"

He moved to get up but stopped when she suddenly pulled away, taking his face in both her hands and sitting them both up.

"Don't. You. Even _dare_," she hissed, her brown eyes burning into him, "Die. Do you hear me? If you really do think I'm all those things you say I am, then. Stay. Alive."

"But, I might not ever see you again. Why does it matter?" He said bluntly, and she recoiled almost immediately.

"Because I want you to live! I want you to survive this fucking war. I know I'll never see you again, but I'll be able to rest a little easier knowing you're still out there. The possibility of crossing paths with you again is enough to keep me going, okay? If you die, then…," she bit her lip, "then I die, too. And I will never, ever, EVER forgive you."

Flippy didn't even care about the filmy wetness brimming over his eyes as he leaned forward, craning his neck to kiss her. But she suddenly released his face and gripped his shoulders, pushing him back to arms length.

"The last kiss we have will not be a goodbye kiss," she demanded, and Flippy completely understood. The last kiss should remain blissful and absolutely perfect, as it was shared in the weightless moment they had together.

Three and a half hours later, Flippy was standing on her front porch while Flaky stood in the doorway, clutching her robe to herself. Without a word he reached inside his shirt and pulled out his silver dog tags, raising them over and off of his head, and then reaching forward to place them around Flaky's neck. She watched his hands work to untangle a few strands of her hair from the chain before he backed up, taking in the sight of her one last time, his dog tags clutched in her frail hands.

"Don't forget me," he murmured.

She looked down at the tags and said, "I've never done anything this crazy before and I probably never will again. You made me feel so alive, for the first time. And I didn't even have to think about anything, and I wasn't worried, and you said all those nice things, and I-"

She was cut off by the gentle placement of Flippy's lips on hers. When he pulled away, tears sprang from her eyes and made rivers down her face.

"I thought I said I didn't want a goodbye kiss!" she wailed.

"Its not a goodbye kiss. It's a promise."

Two months later, Flippy should have been dead. He'd been taken away and tortured for information, he'd been shot at from close range, and he'd been stabbed with several sharp objects and burned with multiple fires. His body was riddled with scars and bruises and stitches, and one look at him and you could tell he'd been through hell and back. On a cold, stark Monday morning, a fellow soldier who was two years younger than Flippy sat beside him, extended a hand and announced, "I've never seen some one fight as hard as you before. Splendid."

Flippy shook it firmly and said, "Flippy. Nice to meet you."

Splendid took out a cigarette and offered one to Flippy, and for a few quiet moments they sat in silence.

"How do you do it," Splendid asked, looking a little star struck when he focused on the long, jagged red scar line trailing from Flippy's left eyebrow to jaw line, "Steroids?"

"Ha, no, no, nothing like that."

Splendid nodded, looking his face over as Flippy took a long drag.

"Then what?"

Flippy finished half the cigarette, putting it out in the dirt.

"I made a promise."

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_**EPILOGUE COMING SOON**_


	2. Epilogue

Flaky's life was not the same as it was two years ago. She had been picked up, turned around, turned over and then thrown for a loop. Her subconscious seemed to break like a crack in a window and she was thrown through, and here she was back where she started.

The year was 1918 and the war had finally ended. There was a celebratory feeling coursing through the air and the people, but she only sat on the balcony of her apartment, smoking cigarettes she hadn't smoked since she was 18. She'd moved out of her apartment with Giggles and had been living on her own for those two years, trying to find a place for herself in the world to rid the feeling of being so lost. Now two years later, the boxes still sat unpacked in her living room, gathering dust.

Chronic anxiety, as the doctor had called it. No, I haven't had that since I was a little girl, she'd said. Well it never really leaves you, he'd explained.

Flaky sat on the balcony now, watching the street below fill with bustling people. She blew out the smoke from her drag, watching it swim through the air and dissipate above her head. She had promised Giggles she would meet her downtown to go to one of the parties one of the parlors was throwing. She didn't want to go, at all, but she felt a little bad for having moved out and breaking off her once regular contact with her. They'd only seen each other a total of 6 times since she'd moved out, mostly because Flaky never left her house unless it was to get groceries or more cigarettes. Human contact just felt like uncomfortable needles in her skin now, just like when she was 8 years old and was scared of anyone other than her mother and father. But for Giggles, maybe she could endure it for a while.

She'd more or less become completely asexual after her night in 1916. As she walked through the crowd now and a few men offered to buy her a drink, she would decline without feeling the slightest bit of emotion in her heart. She wasn't interested. She probably never would be again. She had sent two letters to Flippy, but never received a reply. The day she realized he was probably dead was the day she ceased to feel love.

Flaky arrived on the square about 5 minutes early, stealing a place beside the wall and waiting patiently. There were more people than she'd expected, with all the streets full of lights, sounds, and crowds. Everyone was happy and jovial; some of the troops had returned and more had come later that day. Reunited friends and families laughed and celebrated, banners and signs ran along buildings. It was one big welcome home party, even though some were still just as troubled and some of the news reaching them wasn't good. Flaky's neighbor's son had been announced dead in a letter they'd received in their mailbox, and yet she saw the couple moving amongst the crowd now. Everyone, no matter what the story, was just trying to be happy again.

Just when she'd turned her head to look for Giggle's arrival, she felt arms being thrown around her neck.

"Flaky! There you are!" Giggles laughed in her ear, and Flaky hugged her back before she eased away.

"God, I've missed you," Giggles said, pushing her pink hair behind her ear. She was still lithe and beautiful, a little taller maybe, and had that same sparkle in her eye. It almost felt foreign to be so open again after all the time spent apart.

"I've missed you too," she said, and it was the first time she'd said anything and meant it in a long time. "Thank you for inviting me."

"Oh, hush, its no big deal," she squeezed her hand, "I'm so glad you agreed!"

"Well I couldn't turn such a good friend down," Flaky said, and Giggles smiled warmly. "Flaky, how have…how have you been? And when I ask this," she leveled her eyes with Flaky's, becoming serious, "I mean it."

Flaky felt the familiar cold chill in her veins and the knot twist in her stomach, but she put on the face she'd spent two years crafting and said, "I'm okay."

Giggles didn't look convinced, so she threw in a smile and a pat on the shoulder.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Thank you though-"

She was cut off by the sound of two cat calls and she looked over Giggle's shoulder to see two uniformed men walking up. Giggles turned and greeted them warmly, throwing her arms over their shoulders and pulling them in.

"Flaky, this is Splendid and Mole. They just got back to Paris a couple days ago."

"God it's good to back," the one with blue hair said, raising his cap up to scan the area.

"We went to school together," she explained, smacking his hat off and ruffling his hair, "and they've been dying to meet you."

"She hasn't shut up about you," the one with light purple hair said, and Giggles jabbed him in the side.

"Don't say it like that!"

"It's true."

"Is not!"

They continued to laugh a bit before Giggles finally noticed the look on Flaky's face. She had been standing there, watching them, frozen and eyes wide like she'd just seen something terrifying.

"Flaky?"

"You both have army uniforms on," she said, completely ignoring Giggles.

"Yes, we do," the blue haired one laughed, looking puzzled, "We were in the army after all. Been up north for God knows how long-"

Flaky reached over, snaking her hand through his jacket and pulling out a silver pair of dog tags. Before he could protest, she pulled Flippy's tags out from underneath her shirt too and held them beside each other.

"Do these look familiar to you?" Flaky demanded, raising the tags to his face.

"Um…" he took them in his hand, gently turning them over. "Well, yeah actually. It's got Flippy's name scratched on the back. Good guy, talked to him just yesterday. How did you get these-"

"Flippy?" the purple haired one barked, "No way! Son of a bitch, he just told me he'd lost them! Hey, do you know him, miss?"

They looked at her as her face suddenly went pale, and she felt her heart jump start in her chest. Without saying a word, she pushed past them and began to run through the crowd.

"Flaky!" Giggles called out after her, but she didn't seem to hear.

She squeezed through the tightly packed people and managed to mutter a few apologies, veering to the right and barreling down a back alley way. It was dark now, but she kept running, only having one clear idea of where she was going.

She ran through people and dodged elbows and arms. She ran through the streets and around houses. She ran past her house and her old apartment with Giggles. She ran through blocks and cars and didn't stop until she reached the park, flying across the grass and onto the steps of the bridge. Her heels were beginning to make blisters, so in one quick movement she reached down and yanked them off, tossing them over the railing and into the water. She ran to the other side in her stockings, stopping when she reached the part where you could clearly see the Eiffel Tower peaking up over the horizon. Skidding on her heels she clutched her knees, gasping for breath, her heart pounding in her ears. There was no one around, and as soon as she had enough air in her lungs to stand up straight she allowed her head to clear. It was crazy, and most likely impossible, but she had a feeling. She just had a feeling that…

"About time you showed up."

Her blood came to a crashing halt in her veins, coursing like water under ice. Everything stopped like the moment right before two cars collide, when the seconds become eternities and everything is in slow motion. Her heart was colliding with her rib cage as she turned around.

"I was thinking you weren't going to show up!" Flippy stood no more than 15 feet away, his jacket wrapped around his hips and his hands in his pockets. He sauntered out from under the shade of a tree and stood before her, his green hair tangled and scruffy.

She didn't mean to, and she didn't even feel it coming, but in that moment she burst into tears.

He stepped back, looking genuinely surprised and a little scared as she began to wail, covering her face in her hands.

"F-Flaky-?"

"Shut up!" her voice cracked, and he stilled. "You shut up! Do you know what it's been like? You left, and I was doing so well before I met you, and I could've gone my whole life pretending I was happy and being strong. But I can't anymore, and I've been miserable, and it's not fair! I'm so scared, and I don't even know why! I'm not even sure who I am anymore, and I don't know if you do either!"

She was rambling now and didn't notice Flippy gradually making his way towards her until she looked up and their eyes met.

"You haven't changed a bit," he smiled, "Still so afraid to be yourself."

He raised a hand to lightly brush his knuckles across her cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

"When are you going to realize I knew the real you the whole time? If I didn't, I wouldn't be here."

"You really are here, aren't you," she whispered, touching his face like her hand would go right through it.

He raised his hands up and made a rectangle with his fingers, squinting one eye and framing her face.

"Yeah," he said smiling, "and so are you."

"Flippy," her voice wavered as she felt her heart swell and the emptiness begin to fade, "…where are we going from here?"

He grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. But I'd love to find out."

Their lips met, and time resumed once again.


	3. Sequel

_**A.N. So I wasn't really planning on continuing this story after the epilogue but I got a lot of requests and I can't say no to you guys! This is just a little sequel and I hope you enjoy! Relationship Problems has been kind of rocky but I plan on updating the next chapter soon.**_

* * *

It didn't cry.

That was probably the most terrifying moment. More terrifying than the car ride to the hospital, more terrifying than the months and months of watching Flaky bed ridden with sickness, more terrifying than the possibility of all the permanent scars.

The moment they had entered the emergency room, the moment Flippy had been at the reception desk without missing a step, the moment Flaky was put on the gurney and wheeled in the operating room, her nails digging half moons into Flippy's palm.

None of that compared to the feeling of the silence.

Flippy stood outside the doors, unable to stomach being inside and watching. He could still hear all the voices of the doctors, all the movement of nylon covered arms, all the scraping of instruments, and the deep throated screams coming from Flaky. That was the loudest of them all. Even muffled by four walls and thick double doors, each wail was agonizing, painful. He could feel the pain she was feeling conveyed through her voice, he could feel it low in his stomach and in his mind. He was wringing his hands over and over, grinding the bones together until he finally placed his palms over his eyes and pressed hard. He was temporarily blinded in a shower of sparks and black, and much to his dismay it didn't make the reality any less harsh. He was still awake and perfectly aware. He knew exactly what was going on and what would happen since the minute he came home to Flaky standing in the living room, a puddle from the water at her feet.

He still remembered the moment clear as day, when Flaky voiced the proposition. They had been lying in bed, the lights had been turned off and sleep was imminent when she murmured next to him, quiet as a whisper, "I want to have a baby."

And the lights had come back on and he had turned to her in shock, searching her face.

"I…I don't…Since when?"

She had shrugged, "For a while now."

"We've been married for less than 4 months," he'd said incredulously, "I mean it's just…are you sure? So soon?"

But he couldn't hide the smile creeping onto his lips. He was surprised to feel the happiness bubble inside him as his thoughts raced to comprehend why in hell he would want something this sudden too. He had looked into her eyes, smiling widely as she smiled back, her eyes sparkling in that way Flippy had learned her's only could.

"I'm scared," he laughed, "I'm going to be honest here, Flaky, if we actually do this."

"I am too," she said, excitement playing like a picture show across her features.

And then they had burst into uncontrollable, giddy, stupid laughter and Flippy had kissed her, their lips smiling and unable to connect properly.

Now here they were, 9 months later, their child about to make its first appearance into the world. It was a cold, dreary Wednesday in fall, the clouds hanging like an ominous blanket in the sky. It felt like they had latched onto Flippy's jacket as he stood here now, an unsettling mass of SOMETHING on his shoulders. And he had no idea what to do with it. He wanted to hold Flaky's hand and tell her he needed her and be reassured she needed him too, but his train of thought came to a crashing halt when the screams stopped. Flaky was quiet, and so were the rustling bodies on the other side of the door. The only thing he could hear was the steady beeping of the heart monitor.

Beep…

Beep…

Beep…

He almost smiled, he almost felt happy. For a moment he thought maybe this was all over and he could finally walk in and hold their baby. He though he could see Flaky smile and tell her how proud and happy he was. But then he felt a shivering trickle of sweat beading on his head as he realized the silence shouldn't have lasted this long. There should be cries and squeals of life. There should be a noise connected the two new worlds coming together.

Silence.

And then the doctors voice.

"We're losing her."

Flippy felt the coldest sensation he'd ever felt shoot into his veins and everything was suddenly in hyper-drive. He just heard the first protests from Flaky before he burst through the doors, pushing past the nurse standing there. He was at her side instantly.

"Flippy," she was whimpering, sweat and tears completely coating her pale, flushed face. Her hair was plastered to her forehead as she wildly moved her head around. "Flippy, they're taking her, where are they taking her? Flippy, they said they're losing her. Flippy, I want to see my baby. Flippy please, let me see my baby."

Flippy couldn't breathe. The world slipped away from him, and all that existed was that room. That room and his wife gripping his arm next to him. He scanned the room, not even noticing the hands of the nurses tugging a medical suit over his clothes and shouting orders at him. Then he spotted them, by the wall, on a table with instruments and machines he couldn't pretend to understand. The doctor was there, the green cap on his head a splash of color on the white walls. And in front of him was a limp body, tiny, helpless, and apparently also breathless. It didn't even register in his brain that it was a baby. It didn't matter. All that was coherent in his thoughts was the fact that it was HIS daughter. It was his and Flaky's and she was lying on a table not moving while the doctors and two nurses began to roam their hands over the body. Wires blocked their fingers and all he could see were two, tiny feet. Still as ice. And he suddenly felt like throwing up.

He didn't know how to understand proper English anymore, hearing Flaky's pleas enter one ear and drift out the other. He didn't know he was wearing a suit until he looked down to see Flaky's hands twisted in it.

"I know," was the thing his mouth worked out and he lifted her hand to his face, burying his forehead in the top of Flaky's hand. "I know. I know. I know, I know, I know."

The tarp that separated the view of the lower half of Flaky's body was still in place, and it made Flippy's gut wrench upwards. That was where this was coming from. That was where it was supposed to happen; a child, a normal birth, crying and screaming from a new mouth.

He asked what was happening, but none of them seemed to notice.

"What's going on?" He repeated, this time a little more forcefully, and when there was no reply again, "TELL ME WHAT'S HAPPENING!"

He broke free of Flaky's grip and bolted to the table, but was caught securely by the arms of two nurses. They struggled to hold him back, yelling, demanding, and even though all his thoughts were a mess and he couldn't hear it, the small heart monitor connected to the small wrist began to come to life.

It was slow at first, almost non existent. It could have been accidental.

He wriggled himself loose of their grip, their hands reaching and clawing at his suit until in tore away in their nails and he was running again. But halfway to the table, the first steady stream of heart beats sounded. Then they sped up, and the tiny body squirmed. Coughing and wheezing at first, but then, just as Flippy pushed through their shoulders and came to the side of the glass incubator, the first cry split the air.

And if it wasn't the most glorious sound Flippy had ever heard.

He was unable to move when it first pierced the room, and by the second cry he felt his legs give out, and he fell to his knees. At eye level, inches from his face, his breath clouding the glass, lay the most beautiful being in the entire universe.

His life and their life was suddenly pin pointed to a single object, and he heard Flaky's sobs of relief from behind him.

"Congratulations," the doctor said, kneeling down next to him. "It's a girl. A healthy baby girl."

He laughed; the kind of laugh some one does when they have no idea how else to react. It's made up of irony, sadness, grief, happiness, joy, and an uncontrollable flood of relief. He laughed and reached over to hug the doctor, who he noticed too late was covered in blood. He hugged him like he'd known him for years, actually kissing him briefly before stumbling up to look at his child once more.

She was wonderful; soft, almost translucent strands of red hair matted on the slightly squished head. The umbilical cord was cut, and several cuffs and tubes clung to her little arms and legs, squirming listlessly. Flippy watched as she raised a hand up, grasping thin air, the chubby, short fingers silently leading a symphony. He put his hand against the glass, tears streaming down his face as he whispered,

"Welcome to the world, little one."

Flaky's blood pressure had sky rocketed, and the doctors were hesitant to remove her from the ICU. But on the second day of her seclusion, she snuck out of the doors, dragging the IV stand with her and padding with her bare feet to the infant ward where Flippy was standing, peering through the window that showed the organized rows of newborns. She wordlessly stopped, standing beside him as they shared a moment of absolute silence and stillness, an almost telepathic understanding flowing between them, before she rested her cheek on his shoulder. He ran his fingers through her hair, the flakes of dandruff falling away with his touch. When she looked up at him, she furrowed her brow at the unsettling look on his face.

"What's wrong?" she asked softly.

"Hm? Oh, nothing," he smiled, pressing a kiss to her temple. She was too tired to ask again.

* * *

Four days later, the new parents were comfortably ensconced in their bed, lying on top of the covers on their sides, looking down at the child asleep between them. She was wearing a loose onesie with ducks on it, a hand me down from Flippy's grandmother, and wrapped in a bright pink baby blanket, gifted via Cuddles. It didn't take long to have her perfectly swaddled and lulled to sleep, Flaky humming softly.

When the quiet in the room had stretched into hours and the moon was high in the sky, darkness fully settled, Flippy spoke.

"What are you humming?"

"Hmm?" Flaky said, looking up.

"You were humming," Flippy repeated, "but I don't know the song."

She blinked a couple times before chuckling softly.

"I don't know it either."

"We should write it down."

"Yeah?"

"Give it a name."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not, you have a beautiful voice."

Even in the dim light of the bedside lamp, a slight flush rose on Flaky's cheeks and she looked away, focusing her gaze back on their child.

"She hasn't cried yet," she whispered.

"I know. The doctor said its normal."

"Flippy?"

"Yeah?"

"I want to hear her voice."

"Me too."

"I bet she'll sound like you."

"God, I hope not."

"I like your voice!"

"Yes but I'm a guy. She needs your voice."

"I don't know, maybe it will be a mix."

"Wouldn't that be great?"

"Was that sarcasm?"

"No, I'm being s-"

They both stopped mid-sentence as the baby stirred slightly, opening the flushed lips and letting out a contented sigh. When her eyelids ceased flickering, Flippy and Flaky looked at each other, both of them wearing similar smiles. But Flippy's smile faltered when a similar feeling to the one he had felt in the infant ward uncoiled in his stomach. He looked down, swallowing a lump in his throat, and felt cold fingers brush his cheek. He closed his eyes, leaning into the touch.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"Don't wanna."

"Too bad."

They shared a chuckle before the heavy atmosphere settled around them again, and Flippy felt his heart drop. When he looked back at Flaky's face, he saw everything he needed to push him further. Trust, understanding, and a deep feeling of fear.

He took a deep breath.

"Do you think I'll be a good father?"

She raised an eyebrow and said, "What?"

"I mean," he continued, trying not to fidget, "she's so perfect, you know? And I'm so full of flaws and not to mention a ton of doctors warning me my PSTD or whatever the hell it's called will eventually make me snap and I just… I want to be…good. I want to be there for her, and help guide her and make the right decisions and I don't know if I can-"

He was cut off when Flaky pressed a finger to his lips.

"Flippy," she said, shaking her head, "please don't say that. You are the best thing to happen to me," she paused when he scoffed, "No I'm serious! You are a great person and who cares about your past? I'm a grown woman who still behaves like a 9 year old and I can't be comfortable with anyone but you and our friends. I'm not exactly a model parent either. And yet…I'm not scared."

When she slid her finger away, Flippy was quiet in confusion.

"I'm not…for some reason. I mean, I know we are going to make mistakes and we're going to have to adjust to having a baby in the house, and I'm not the sharpest tool in the tool box but…this feels right. And when I look at her," she motioned to the little bundle asleep between them, "I feel like she is the entire world. And I know you feel the same. And if we love her that much, how can we possibly be bad parents?"

Her eyes were pleading, pupils swimming at the honesty that hung between them. The doubts, the fears, the future that had suddenly become so mysterious. A million roads that had opened before them and any one could either nurture or destroy. They had created new life, and the fragility of that fact was frightening.

But it suddenly became clear in Flippy's head, like a sudden spark of electricity.

He would give up everything, fight and die, before he let the family he had created be put in any harm. This was different from the carelessness he felt towards death in the army. It carried more weight now, more purpose, and he realized he played a significant role. He was meant to be here, and if life was dictated by things that were meant to happen, if there was a higher power at work, a design and pattern to humanity, then he was prepared to venture into it. To take the risks and learn, and pass on that knowledge to the clean slate that lay next to him. Pure, unadulterated, fresh; and the same flesh and blood as him.

Nothing could have prepared him for this moment.

And that was exactly the way it was supposed to be.

For the first time in a long time, he found himself thinking,

_'If you can hear me, to whoever may be listening, let me just say thank you.'_

Flaky was smiling now, a warm, infinitely welcoming smile. The kind of gesture Flippy could both live and die in and be completely happy.

"We haven't even named her," he said, laughing helplessly.

"I know. It seems too surreal to do it. Just yet…"

"I know what you mean." It was still hard to believe the blessing they'd been given.

And whatever this blessing brought, the price would be worth the wound.

Two days later, the baby would mumble. Three days later her cries would split the air. And less than 24 hours later she would make unrecognizable burbles and murmurs that instantly seemed to light up the feel of the house.

It was music. Even the harshest tones and loudest screeches, the nights that turned into weeks of screams at the crack of dawn, the shifts they took between trying to get adequate sleep. They were all worth it, indescribable, a song that would play like the sweetest music. It became the soundtrack of their lives, and one week later, without really thinking, Flaky said a name out loud. And it fit like two puzzle pieces; their masterpiece completed.

_Melody._


End file.
